


A Dragon's Refusal

by DemonicSymphony



Series: Guardians of London [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Case Fic, Dragon Mycroft, Dragon Sherlock, Handler Greg, Healer John, M/M, Nymphs & Dryads, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-12 12:08:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2109366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DemonicSymphony/pseuds/DemonicSymphony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Dragon Sentry who refuses to be a Sentry or to have a Handler and a damaged magical healer have to figure out how to live with one another.</p>
<p>Sherlock Holmes is the quintessential Dragon Sentry. He should be guarding London with his brother, Mycroft (and Mycroft's Bonded Handler Greg) but he refuses to take on a Handler or to have anything to do with Sentry work, instead devoting his days to flouncing about the Yard, helping Greg with his day-job as a Detective Inspector for the Yard. This is his story and how he came to find one John Watson.</p>
<p>Sometimes in order to heal yourself, you have to help someone else heal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For [john-locked-in-the-mind-palace](http://john-locked-in-the-mind-palace.tumblr.com/) for the 2014 AU Exchangelock.
> 
> Many thanks to the Writing Circle.
> 
> A 221b to start
> 
> Further note: Despite people saying this is abandonded, it is not. I have notes and more work done on it. However, both fandom and being exceedingly ill drove me to shelve writing on it for a while. It'll get there, one day.

Sherlock concentrated on the dragon shaped pinata in front of him. Tongue caught between his teeth, he hummed as he wove magic through it. 

“John! Come help!” 

When John reached the kitchen he leaned over Sherlock’s shoulder to peer at the pinata. “Sherlock, what the fuck are you doing?”

In a tone indicating John had asked a painfully stupid question, Sherlock replied, “I’m making a bomb.”

“What the fuck!? Sherlock! I’m not helping you make a bomb!” 

“It’s only a magical one. It isn’t going to blow up the flat.” Sherlock muttered as he pointed to the tail. “Press there and focus healing. I want it to appear innocuous.”

John sighed as he wrapped his hand around the tail of the pinata, pressing his damaged magic to the spicy overlay of Sherlock’s.

“Sherlock…” John’s tone held an edge of warning. “Do you really think you ought to be adding a shift inhibitor to this thing?”

“Do shut up… You’ll break my concentration and the bomb might-”

Both Sherlock and John were tossed to the kitchen floor when the shock wave hit. As it spread it tapered off, merely rattling dishes before dissipating entirely.

John scowled at a sheepish looking Sherlock. “You were saying, oh genius?”

Before Sherlock could answer, John’s mobile rang. Still glaring, John answered. “Greg... An experiment… The bastard.”


	2. Chapter 2

_Five Years Earlier:_

Sherlock Holmes lounged in the front parlor of Mycroft and Greg’s home, muttering to himself about having to meet yet _another_ handler to satisfy Mycroft’s pressing need to have him ‘settled’. _Boring_. Just because he was off drugs and Mycroft and _Lestrade_ were a bonded Sentry/Handler pair, didn’t mean Sherlock had to follow suit. _Ridiculous_.

Still, when the young man entered the room, Sherlock stood. He quickly took him in, the nervous twitch of hands gave away the false overlay of bravado. Brown hair and eyes in a face that had something of a rat-like quality on a slender frame… and what was that ridiculous sweater vest? When the man held out his hand Sherlock took it, attuned to the touch of skin, searching for anything that might indicate compatibility between his dragon and the handler in front of him.

“Philip Anderson. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Sherlock Holmes.” He withdrew his hand. “Pleasantries aside, there is absolutely no spark of recognition between us. Nothing that tells me you’d be able to handle me at all, Mr. Anderson.”

Anderson opened his mouth to object and Sherlock held up his hand. “I’ve heard it all before. ‘Sometimes it takes time. Why don’t we spend time together?’ I haven’t the time for it I’m afraid. Please, stay for dinner. I hear you work for my brother-in-law. I have no wish to spoil time for you here. My brother always has wonderful desserts on hand, be sure to sample it. Have a good evening.”

Greg appeared in the doorway as Sherlock swept out of it, long coat lending to his dramatic exit as always. He looked after Sherlock for a moment before turning his eyes back to Anderson. When he saw the confused and hurt look on Anderson’s face Greg moved to his side. As he wrapped an arm around Anderson’s shoulders Greg’s voice was gentle, “Come on then. We’ll have a brandy and you can tell me what the git said.”

\---

Two days later found Sherlock standing near a corpse with Anderson, and wasn’t _that_ a bit awkward? When Greg introduced his new sergeant, Sally Donovan, Sherlock tilted his head as he observed her. “Flunked out of Sentry training so fell back on police work, now you’re trying for detective.”

Sally’s eyes narrowed, making Sherlock aware he’d pushed too far as she snapped at him. “And you’re the arse who won’t do his bloody job and protect London even though you blew Sentry tests and training out of the water. Won’t find a handler even though they’ve been laid at your feet on silver platters. Instead you skulk around waiting for magical murders to happen so you can solve them.”

“Sally-” Greg warned as he watched them.

“S’not right! I know he’s your Sentry’s brother and all, but come off it, mate. He’s a freak! Everyone says it!” Sally growled as she glared at Sherlock.

“Um, guys-” Anderson piped up softly, trying to exude soft, Handler calm as Sally and Sherlock faced off, dragon tempers bubbling close to the surface. 

Greg and Sherlock watched with interest as Sally deflated almost immediately when Anderson managed to touch her hand.

“If we’re all done posturing, could we please get back to why I’ve got a water nymph dead in the middle of a park with no water source?” Greg's voice was gruff.

Sherlock launched into the most likely explanation as Sally looked on, arms folded across her chest.

The murder scene would be the first in a long line of confrontations between the two dragons that Lestrade and Anderson would have to try to control.

For the next six months there were cases and Sherlock dangerously close to using again. Magic laced drugs that landed him in rehab at a remote castle in Scotland. He'd been there for three months the last time. He'd also been stuck in dragon form for the better part of three weeks. The humiliation was more of the reason he’d not used again than any threat Mycroft could use.

A particularly rough patch found Sherlock in the parlor again. An arm slung across his face as he listened to Mycroft drone on about his responsibilities. “Sherlock. It’s been nearly eight years since Victor turned down being your Handler.”

As though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room, Sherlock’s chest stilled. He drew his arm off his face and stared at Mycroft. His jaw twitched and he sat up, entire body stiff. “There’s no reason to bring Victor up. He doesn’t have anything to do with my refusals, Mycroft!”

“Be that as it may, Sherlock. You’ve shown an increasing frequency in losing control over you temper. You actually set something on fire last week at the Yard!” Mycroft snarled.

“That was on purpose!”

Greg entered the room and wrapped a hand around Mycroft’s wrist. “Alright- you two. Can we not set the antiques aflame? If you’re going to needle one another, at least take it in the garden?”

A small huff, accompanied with small wisps of smoke escaped Sherlock as he glared at the two of them. “I don’t need babying and I don’t need these constant searches for a Handler!”

“Will you at least meet her?” Greg murmured as he stroked his thumb over Mycroft’s pulse.

“Fine. I’ll meet her. I’ll be polite. I’ll even have dinner, but that is it.” Sherlock snapped and stared at the fire, smoke starting to curl around his head in thickening rings.

A low rumbling growl left Mycroft and Sherlock answered it with one of his own.

A small voice sounded from the doorway as the housekeeper, all too used to the antics, showed her to the parlor. “Um, hello?”

Two pairs of eyes caught somewhere between human and reptilian snapped to the slender woman in the doorway. 

Greg smiled, tight lines at the corners of his mouth and eyes. “Ah, Molly, welcome to The Holmes Brothers Posturing Hour. First up on the agenda, who can growl the loudest. Next, maybe we’ll get to see who can turn my antique sideboard to ash first.”

Both Mycroft and Sherlock looked at the floor and to the surprise of everyone, Molly giggled. “Oh dear. Well, let’s not set antiques on fire, gentlemen, please.”

Sherlock looked up brow furrowed as he watched her come in.

Mycroft moved to take her coat and spoke in a low, reserved tone. “My apologies, Ms. Hooper.”

“It’s quite alright. Please… call me Molly.” She smiled up to him as she smoothed down her brightly colored jumper. 

Sherlock stood and gave a small nod of his head. “It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Sherlock.” He buttoned his suit coat before holding out his hand as he approached. When their fingers met there was a tingle, but not what one would expect when meeting their handler. A sad smile crossed Molly’s face but Sherlock didn’t let go of her hand, instead, tucking it into his arm. “I hear you are a pathologist at St. Bart’s…”

Molly’s face brightened again. “Oh- yes… I just finished a post mortem on a dryad. Did you know they revert partially back to tree form when they die? We have to use special saws to do the-” She bit her lower lip. “Sorry, most people don’t like when I talk about my work.

The corner of Sherlock’s mouth twitched up as he led Molly to the sideboard to make her a drink. “I assure you, Molly, I find it fascinating.”

Sentry and Handler they might not be, but _friends_ , well, Sherlock could do that. Frankly, it had been far too long since he’d had someone he could call friend.

Molly and Sherlock talked all through dinner much to Greg and Mycroft’s delight. The two of them discussed things that were decidedly not dinner conversation. However, Mycroft was not going to complain about the state of dinner conversation if Sherlock was happy.

Over the next few months danger nights started a steady decline, though there were still several. Whenever Sherlock was bored, he wound up at Bart’s instead of looking for a fix or doing something too dangerous. 

One such evening found him observing Molly.

“So why don’t you want a Handler?” Molly asked as she weighed the heart of the warlock.

“I’m a dragon, not a helpless infant,” Sherlock muttered as he peered at the microscope nearby. “Just because some dragons need the calming influence of a partner, doesn’t mean we all do. It’s ridiculous. I do fine on my own.”

Molly let out a soft hum as she noted the weight of the heart and moved onto another organ. “But it’s not just about calming you either. When’s the last time you went flying, Sherlock? Went up and stretched your wings. Have you even shifted since we met?”

“I am in control of my body, Molly. It does not control me.” 

“You haven’t. I knew it… We’re going to the field when I get off shift and you’re taking me up.” She murmured before recording the weight of the lungs.

Sherlock’s head snapped up at Molly’s words and at the same time she looked up at him, stammering. “I meant- I mean. It’s not-” She cleared her throat. “That wasn’t- I’m not your handler. I shouldn’t tell you to fly.”

The morgue grew silent as they stared across it at one another, Sherlock’s hands frozen on the microscope and Molly’s around the lungs. After another minute ticked by, Sherlock chose his words with care. “No, you are not my handler… but you are my closest friend and _a_ Handler.” He took a deep breath. “You are the only person I would trust to fly with me, Molly.”

A small, hesitant smile appeared on Molly’s face. “I really didn’t mean to boss you around. I just worry about you. It’s not good for you to go so long between shifts.”

Sherlock gave an exasperated sigh. “I know. I know…” He put away the slide he’d been looking and studied his hand for a moment before looking back to Molly as she started sewing the body back up. “Molly, would you do me the honor of taking a flight with me this evening, as friends?”

The grin that lit up Molly’s face would have melted even Mycroft’s heart. “Oh, of course I will. I’ll have to get my good coat from my locker to stay warm, but absolutely.”

In spite of himself, Sherlock grinned as he pulled out another slide and prepped it, peering at the new sample. “Good, that’s settled then. We’ll go up as soon as you’re off shift and ready.”

It took them two hours past Molly’s supposed end of shift to escape Bart’s after an unfortunate car accident brought in a van load of bodies to be processed. But when it was done, Molly grabbed her coat and took Sherlock’s arm when he offered it, letting him lead her out so they could catch a cab to the public launch fields. Technically, he had access to the London Sentry Towers, but he preferred the feel of the fields. 

When they reached the fields, Sherlock paid the cabbie and slipped into the public locker rooms. Molly bundled up as she waited. They appeared to be the only ones there. When Sherlock came out of the large barn Molly gave a small gasp. 

Sherlock huffed a small ring of smoke at her as he stretched, large wings flaring out and then folding back against him. He was coal black as he approached Molly and ducked his head down to her. She held her hands out and gently ran her hands over his massive head and along his horns. Sherlock elicited a sharp intake of breath and small cry of surprise from her as his scales shifted to a dark blue.

“Sherlock! You can shift your color?” Molly asked as she looked at him, eyes wide. “Can you do any color? Or is it just dark shades like the black and blue?”

With a huff, Sherlock looked at her as he raised his head, taking on a regal, dangerous look. However, for just a moment, Sherlock Holmes turned a shade of cotton candy pink, before changing back to his preferred dark blue. The display sent Molly into a fit of giggles, bending her over at her middle. Sherlock snorted at her and nudged her shoulder. She grinned to him as she scratched between his horns.

“Ready then?” She asked.

Sherlock lowered himself so Molly could swing herself up. She moved with a practiced jump and landed on his back with a precision usually reserved for bonded pairs. Molly sat him well, posture perfect even without a saddle. Sherlock let out a rumble of approval. He tipped his head back in question and Molly patted him. “Let’s go. Show me what you’re made of.”

With a leap and powerful thrust of wings, Sherlock took to the sky. A happy whoop of joy escaped Molly as they climbed into the darkened London sky. Sherlock climbed up until they were leveling off and he could soar out over the city. 

The start of the ride was silent, unaccompanied by the intimacy normally shared between Dragon and Handler. Molly was skilled though, guiding Sherlock with pressure in her knees and gentle touches in her hands. Most dragons and handlers were exposed to flying with one another in secondary school… It was less intimate then, more about fun and getting used to the sensations. As adults, it was normally reserved for bonded pairs or combat situations.

As Sherlock dipped and soared over the city, Molly clung to him. The tingle of the tenuous, possible bond ran through them. For a brief moment Sherlock wondered if they could make it work. Pairs had bonded on less of a connection and strengthened it over the years… Sherlock tipped his head back to look at her and she smiled to him. The way her face lit up did make his chest tighten, but not at all in the way it had when he’d looked at Victor. He winked to her and banked left, heading into a dive that made her let loose a delighted shriek.

By the time the flight was over, Molly was laughing and she slid off of him when they landed. Leaning against him. “Mad bastard.” She giggled. “Go get changed, yeah? I’ll buy you dinner and then we’ll get some sleep. I’m on shift again tomorrow, if Greg doesn’t have any cases for you.”

Sherlock pushed his head against her in answer and made his way into the barn. Molly pushed the call button that would hail the nearest cab for them and shoved her hands in her pockets. When Sherlock came out he grinned, wrapping his scarf around his throat.

Across London, Mycroft clicked off the camera feed and smiled. Sherlock might not have found his Handler… but it seemed he’d finally found someone he could trust. Perhaps, even more than a Handler, what Sherlock needed now was a friend.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Antidiogenes club has my undying love, especially [Interrosand](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrosand) who helped me figure out who Greg's great-something grandmother is.

Sherlock and Molly developed a pattern of going to the flying fields every couple of weeks. Mycroft was thoughtful enough to retrieve Sherlock’s saddle so that Molly wasn’t just sitting him bareback. 

Greg was able to convince Sherlock to start checking on the magical grid, in an unofficial capacity, of course. God knew Sherlock would never agree to check on it if he thought he was doing something someone wanted him to. 

He continued to vet the handlers Mycroft deemed ‘worthy of Sherlock’s lineage'. Mycroft had been wise enough never to use those words again after Greg’s tirade about how he was only a copper with the Met and Mycroft could shove a tree up his arse next time ‘his giant, red, thickheaded self’ shifted. 

Mycroft had, in further wise judgement, not mentioned that Greg was descended from the French royal line. Since Mycroft kept his mouth shut about it, Greg chose not to acknowledge the pointed look Mycroft gave the elegant painting of Greg’s, several times great, _grand-mère_ Her Royal Highness, Dragonessa of France, Queen Marie-Amélie des Deux-Siciles.

Having run out of human handlers who would come near Sherlock, Mycroft switched tactics and drew in a dryad. Sherlock was taken with her straight away and Mycroft held out hope until halfway through the meal when Sherlock wound up with a glass of wine in his face. Mycroft wasn’t clear on the problem until Sherlock wiped his face and shrugged.

“That’s a no to the bark scrapings then…”

Greg groaned and let his head hit the table as Mycroft stood to go make apologies on Sherlock’s behalf.

\---

Sherlock enjoyed his free time after the incident at Mycroft and Greg’s. For nearly six months he continued working cases with Greg. Even Sally had begrudgingly agreed that he was useful. Sometimes. Danger nights happened less often to everyone’s relief.

They were standing around a blackened hulk, covering their noses. Sherlock shook his head as he crouched down, inspecting the body. “It’s definitely a vampire. Nothing else smells like this. Fangs visible. Someone got hold of a blessed piece of Scots Elm for this. It’s the only thing that could have caused burning like this without accelerant.” 

Greg nodded as he motioned for the body to be taken away when Sherlock was finished. “Any ideas then?”

“There are three practitioners in the London area capable of blessings of that magnitude. We should question all of them. It’s possible the piece was smuggled in, but I doubt it. The grid allows for creation of such artifacts, but rarely will such a thing cross it, in or out, without detection,” Sherlock answered as he peeled away his gloves.

“Right, I’m for the books then. I’ll let you know when we’ve got them in. You can come down and watch. See if you catch anything we don’t,” Greg responded as he headed toward his car.

Sherlock was already buried in his mobile as he waved, heading for Bart’s. “I’ll see if I can track the Elm once Molly has a definitive shape for me.”

Sally scowled as they left her with the cleanup.

\---

“It was what you thought,” Molly murmured as she inspected the body, nose blocked with peppermint oil. 

Sherlock looked up from his microscope. “Oh?”

“Three inches in diameter, tapered, but with a serrated edge on one side.”

“Splinters?”

“No.” Molly shook her head. “As you suspected, it must have been well sanded and oiled. I suspect linseed oil, but I’ll have to wait for the labs to be sure.”

Sherlock moved to the vampire corpse again and peered down at it, brandishing his magnifying glass as he inspected the fatal wound. “Any closer to finding out who it was?”

Molly checked the computer. “Dental records are going to take time. As are the blood tests. I’d see if Greg has had any luck.”

With a flourish, Sherlock flung on his coat. “Fields when you get off?”

“Unless you’re busy.”

He winked and slipped out of the morgue leaving Molly to laugh and shake her head.

\---

Molly called Greg a few hours later. “Bad news. We can’t get a clean blood sample.”

A small sigh escaped Greg. “Did you get anything?”

“We did. She’s very happily alive, in Dover. Gives to the bank here when she comes up on business. Human.”

“Bloody vampires!” Greg groaned and thumped his head to the desk.

“Um…” Molly bit her lip, trying not to laugh.

“Oi, shut it Hooper,” Greg grumbled, drawing the laugh from Molly.

“Right, off to run his highness. Anything I suggest he keep an eye out for?”

Greg thought about it for a moment and chewed on the inside of his cheek before leaning forward in his chair. “Yeah, Molly. Tell him to look for an empty space. Somewhere unusual. And don’t let him drag you off if he finds anything. You two call me.”

“Sir, yes, Sir,” Molly retorted.

“Oh, go on then.” Greg grumped at her. His only answer was laughter as she rang off.

When she reached the fields, Sherlock was stretching his wings. Molly paid her fare and hopped out, running to him. “Greg says to check the grid for empty space while you’re up for the case.”

A whoosh of breath and widened eyes were the answer Sherlock gave, along with a small dip of his head. Molly took a moment to saddle him him and they took to the air, Sherlock climbing with powerful thrusts of his wings. When Sherlock had reached an easy gliding altitude, they struck out over the restricted space of London, circling low. A loud screech startled Molly as a purple Asian dragon dove out of the sky for them.

Sherlock answered with a roar and the other Dragon looped around them and settled in to fly beside them, winding through the air like a ribbon. Molly’s eyes widened at the sight of London’s only Asian Sentry, Chin Bao. Her handler, Tanner Riley, waved, a big grin on his face as they peeled away to investigate other things. Sherlock huffed in amusement at Molly’s face when he caught a glimpse of her.

In widening circles they soared over London. Sherlock scanned the grid, able to access it through his permissions with the Tower. When Sherlock saw it, a magical emptiness, he rumbled, alerting Molly. Safe havens, some churches, they were empty, devoid of magic… dampening spells put in effect to protect everyone. There shouldn’t have been one there. There weren’t even any plans for something there. Without further prompting, Sherlock circled back, heading straight to the Tower instead of the fields.

When he landed, there was a flurry of activity and an armed guard met them. Someone else had a dressing gown for Sherlock as he shifted. Molly caught a flash of pale skin when Sherlock slid the dressing gown on and wrapped it around him. 

“I need to talk to Lestrade. It is urgent. I believe there is more than a simple vampire murder at hand.”

Molly blinked as she pulled out her mobile, dialing Greg before handing it to Sherlock. They were bustled inside to a waiting area. Scones and tea were put in front of her once she was settled on a sofa. Sherlock was speaking loudly on the phone as he disappeared behind a screen, clothes rustling as he dressed.

“Lestrade. I have reason to believe our victim is someone in the minister’s cabinet. I don't _think_ it's the minister herself, but we can’t know until someone has eyes on her. They’ve been in seclusion for two days, the meeting place was to be secret.” Sherlock paused, listening.

“Yes, exactly. I’m at the tower. I found the area. It’s within easy dumping distance of where we found the body. Especially if it were other vampires… Yes. Alright.” The mobile chimed as the call disconnected.

Sherlock strode from behind the screen in a well-tailored suit that made Molly blink. “Sherlock-”

He arched a brow as he turned to her. “Yes? What? What are you staring at?”

“Well- you… you aren’t in jeans and- it’s… it’s a good look.” Molly stammered.

For a moment, Sherlock seemed taken aback before he paused at the full length mirror, inspecting himself. He turned to her with a curious look. “Is it better?”

“It’s very… _you_ ,” Molly answered honestly. “I think they’ll take you more seriously at the Yard if you wear things like that.”

Sherlock chewed on his lip for a moment. “Interesting, more data needed. Come, I think I’ve solved our mystery.” He beckoned her out the door with a wink and she shook her head as she followed.

\---

Five hours later Molly stood with Sherlock in the middle of the building Sherlock had spied from the air, surrounded by vampire bodies.

“It was a massacre,” Molly murmured. 

“It was a series of assassinations,” Sherlock answered.

Greg strode toward them as he spoke. “He’s not talking, but it appears we caught the rest of them. The Minister’s senior adviser and several key members. It would appear they set it up so they could take over the Vampire Cabinet.”

Sherlock’s jaw clenched. “I told Mycroft they were getting out of hand two years ago when I was still on the streets. They’re the biggest pushers of illicit substances. Especially their blood.”

With a shake of his head, Greg held up his hands. “We’re looking into it. There are going to be ramifications far reaching… Some of these cabinet members were foreign members on loan.”

Molly’s eyebrows raised. “What _was_ this?”

“Annual meeting. It’s meant to go over how they handle human murder backlash, that sort of thing,” Sherlock answered as he looked around. “Get me a list, Lestrade. Bring it home. I’ll come for dinner. It should satisfy Mycroft’s need to pry into how I’m doing and I can help.”

Greg waved a hand. “Go, we’re going to be here for hours taking pictures. I’ll meet you there when I can. Molly? We’re about to start shipping you the bodies we’ve documented.”

“I’ll catch a ride in one of the vans.” Molly waved to them and set off.

“Sherlock…” Greg called him back after a moment. “Are you sure you can’t-”

Sherlock’s brow knit as he looked at Greg. “Can’t what?”

“Molly- she’s, the two of you seem-”

“Absolutely not. I refuse to bind Molly to me when there is someone out there much more suited to her. Molly is my friend. I’ll not keep her from happiness.” Sherlock’s face was twisted in a look of near terror at the prospect. “Molly deserves far better than that.”

Greg blinked in surprise at the vehement defense of Molly and held up his hands. “Right, of course, apologies, mate. I’ll see you when I get home?”

With a sharp nod and dramatic flare of his coat, Sherlock stalked away from the scene.

\---

It took hours to straighten out and identify the bodies. By the time Greg was able to get home, dinner was almost finished and it was with no small amount of surprise he found a young vampire sitting with Mycroft and Sherlock.

“Oh, hullo,” Greg murmured.

The young man stood and bowed his head. “Detective Inspector and Handler Lestrade. It is a pleasure.”

“This is Sergi Ragnov. The vampire Handler I told you about last week.”

Greg blanched and a tight smile formed on his lips. “Of course, Sergi.” He looked to Sherlock with a shake of his head. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened for a moment before he rose and offered his arm. “Sergi, might I escort you to the sitting room?”

Suspecting nothing untoward, Sergi allowed himself to be led to the sitting room. Greg took a moment to brace Mycroft for what was coming.

\---

When it was over, Sherlock held his head in his hands. “Christ, why’d he have to hit me so hard?”

“A reaction to being told his mother is dead, I suspect. You were with her body and did not tell him,” Mycroft replied as he sipped a brandy.

Greg pressed an ice pack into Sherlock’s hands. “It doesn’t matter that you didn’t know, before you object. He’s upset. You two seemed to be getting on. Makes it feel like a betrayal even though it isn’t one.”

As he pressed the ice pack to his eye, Sherlock muttered, “I was going to invite him flying.”

Mycroft and Greg exchanged a significant look over Sherlock’s head. “Sherlock, I am sure he can be persuaded…”

“No, Mycroft. No. I don’t want a Handler. I was going to try it. I’m doing just fine with Molly. Concentrate on finding _her_ a Dragon.” Sherlock pushed to his feet and shook his head. “I’ll be upstairs. I don’t feel like making the trip to my flat.” Without another word he disappeared upstairs to the room he kept there.

Greg sighed. “I’m sorry. I had no idea the boy was-”

“Gregory,” Mycroft murmured as he wrapped his arms around him. “You couldn’t have. It’s not your fault.”

“I knew he was. But I forgot he was here. I bloody forgot…”

With a low rumble, Mycroft pulled Greg closer and nuzzled against him, seeking to soothe him.

\---

The next day dawned behind dark thunderheads. Lightning lit the skies over London as Sherlock stared out his window. He had his knees drawn to his chest as he thought about the case. His eyes rested on a point in the distance, unseeing, the glass cool against his forehead as he sank into his mind palace

Words swirled around him as he concentrated on them in turn. Money, fame, power, all of these were dismissed initially. All of them were traits most beings wanted or craved in some way or another. No, something deeper was at play here. The foreign connections. An accent he’d overheard when they were clearing the meeting space niggled at him.

A few minutes later Sherlock threw himself off the window seat with a sharp gasp. He flew down the stairs to the breakfast table where Greg and Mycroft were discussing the assassinations in hushed, concerned tones. Both of them looked up in surprise when Sherlock stormed into the room.

“It was a plot from the Italians. Well, not the Italians, that’s the point. I think you’ll find none of them are actually who they’re meant to be.”

Greg and Mycroft both swore, each launching into phone calls. Mycroft paused, questioning Sherlock, “You’re certain.”

“The accent is wrong. It’s Greek. I know it is, Mycroft. It’s faint, but it’s there. There is a supposed dormant cell of the vampire superiority group, oh, what are their names? Anyhow, they're rumored to b there.”

With that Mycroft disappeared to his office, Greg following. Sherlock sat down at the breakfast table, starting to plate his food. He flipped on the news, wondering how long it would take to hit.

Thirty minutes later as he sipped at his tea, comfortably full, he watched Mycroft and Bao land. Greg and Tanner leapt down to arrest several vampires.

Sherlock's mouth quirked up in the corner. Perhaps there was something to this Sentry business after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Queen Marie-Amélie des Deux-Siciles (Maria Amalia of Naples and Sicily) was a real French queen. She was the wife of Louis Philippe I. The royal family fled France to England after the Revolution of 1848.
> 
> You can [visit her wikipedia page](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maria_Amalia_of_Naples_and_Sicily).


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock shifted from jeans to custom suits over the next few months. He testified in court about the vampire assassinations. (And landed himself in jail for one too many remarks to the judge.) 

When Greg came to collect him, Sherlock rolled his eyes and swanned out.

That evening, Molly joined him at Mycroft and Greg’s. Her joy was barely contained as she spoke about a dragon she’d met.

“His name is Bill Murray. He was a soldier.” Molly bit her lip.

Sherlock scoffed. “A soldier? A soldier dragon not bonded to someone in his regiment? Is he defective?”

Molly kicked Sherlock under the table. “No. Stop that. He remained unbonded to take on riders in any situation. He lost someone.”

“Fine. _Fine_. When do I get to meet him?” Sherlock asked.

Molly bit her lip. “Well, he’s invited me to go flying after dinner. I thought maybe you would accompany us.”

Sherlock blinked. “Flying? He asked you to go _flying_ already?”

“I am a good handler you know,” Molly snapped.

“Oh- I-” Sherlock looked a bit subdued at that. “I know you are, Molly. I just worry.”

Mycroft and Greg exchanged glances and under the table, Mycroft deftly texted. Already the wheels were turning for a thorough background on Bill Murray.

“About what? You and I have been flying for nearly a year you great git. And I just invited you to come with me to keep me safe. Just in case.” Molly looked at Sherlock, lower lip caught between her teeth and eyebrows raised slightly in a pleading look.

“Oh for God’s sake. Alright, I’ll come.”

The rest of dinner was smooth, except for Molly making Mycroft blanch at the description of a liver she’d pulled out of someone. The pleased look on Sherlock’s face at Mycroft’s discomfort drew a laugh from Greg.

After dessert, Sherlock and Molly said their goodbyes and prepared to head to the flying fields. Sherlock smiled to her as he escorted her to the cab, sliding in with her. “You do realize, of course, your dragon friend has been checked out by Mycroft’s people now?”

Molly looked over to Sherlock. “He didn’t!”

Sherlock held up his phone. 

_All clear. Decorated, well-paying consulting job with the Army. Not at risk of returning to war. -MH_

As she read the message, Molly scowled. “Meddling arse.” Though the fondness in her tone betrayed her true feelings.

They made their way to the public flying fields in comfortable silence. Sherlock’s saddle in the back. When they arrived, two men waited on them. Sherlock slipped from the cab after paying, gathering his saddle.

He stared at the two men and nodded to them. One was taller than Sherlock, dark brown hair and green eyes. The smaller of the two men was a greying, dirty blond, standing at parade rest. Dark blue eyes scanned the area. He looked at ease, but Sherlock could tell it was a ruse, the man was taking everything in as though awaiting a combat situation.

Molly ran up to the taller one. “Bill!”

He wrapped his arms around her. “Hello, Molly. I brought John along. He’s flown with me before. I thought- well, I thought if this didn’t work, I’d take him up.”

Sherlock’s voice drawled out. “Afghanistan, obviously, you were with Murray here. But you’ve been invalided home, not coming out to a new job like him.”

“Oi, and who are you then?” The man replied, watching Sherlock.

“Sherlock Holmes.” He held out a hand as Molly and Murray watched.

The man shook Sherlock’s hand. “John Watson magi-”

“-ical healer. You magic was damaged when you got shot. You still do a good job without it though. It’s why you’re considering being in A and E at London Royal.”

John sputtered, “How the bloody hell do you know that?”

Sherlock grinned. “I observe. You’ve got a pamphlet in your pocket and I can feel your magic. I can feel where it’s blocked.”

Molly and Murray exchanged a surprised look.

“That was- well actually spot on, amazing really.”

The brow arching over Sherlock’s eye showed his surprise. “You think so, really?”

John answered, “Well, of course I do. No one else has been able to feel it. Told me it was lost. Kept telling them I knew it was there. I just can't reach it." He paused, brow furrowing. "Pardon- Sherlock _Holmes_ , Sentry Holmes’-” 

Sherlock interrupted again, “Brother, yes. Not the dead one, obviously.”

John stared open mouthed before clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

Sherlock waved a hand. “Murray said you fly-”

“I do- have done, a lot.”

A grin spread over Sherlock’s face. “Fancy a go?” 

John eyed him for a moment before a grin broke over his face. “Yeah, alright. Go get changed then.”

Sherlock lit up and looked to Murray. “Well, don’t just stand there! We have passengers!”

Molly blinked as she watched Sherlock hurry off. “He’s never that bloody excited to go flying.”

Murray grinned and winked. “Be back in a minute.” He took off after Sherlock at a jog.

“Not that excited? I thought this lot lived and breathed to fly. Murray’s always been that way.” John moved to Molly’s side.

“Sherlock’s been pressured to be a Sentry since he was very young. Then they lost Sherrinford.” Molly shrugged. “It wasn’t until recently that I was able to convince him to fly very much. His- ah... Sentry Mycroft tried to see if we were compatible. We are, as friends.” She smiled. “But nothing more.”

“Ah- well, don’t tell him I told you, but Murray won’t shut up about you.” John watched for the pair to come out of the barn.

Molly blushed. “He’s a fine dragon and a fine man.”

John grinned. “Oh, there he is now.”

Murray made his way to them and John picked up his saddle, throwing it over Murray’s back for Molly. He patted the mottled brown scales ranging from dark brown to a light sand. One green eye gave John a significant look and Murray nodded his head back toward the barn.

As Molly stepped forward to stroke Murray’s head, John looked back to the barn and swore.

Sherlock stepped out of the barn, black scales tipped red as he stalked toward John. Smoke curled lazily from his nostrils as he moved. His tail swished back and forth in lazy motions.

“Oh, he’s such a showoff,” Molly muttered.

Murray gave a huff of amusement.

John stared as Sherlock moved to him. When Sherlock dropped his head to John’s level, John ran his hand over Sherlock’s snout and up over a horn before dropping down to scratch around the base of it without thought, completely enraptured.

A low, pleased rumble left Sherlock and his eyes went half-lidded as his color shifted down to the dark sapphire blues he normally carried. It drew a soft chuckle from John.

“You are a giant mood ring aren’t you?” He murmured as he continued scratching Sherlock.

Sherlock huffed but made no move to deny it or shake John’s hand off him. The two stood there, taking one another in while Murray and Molly looked on.

John stepped back after a few minutes pointing to Sherlock's saddle. When Sherlock acquiesced by dipping his head, John tossed the saddle on his back with care. Soon he had the straps settled and rubbed Sherlock's snout.

“Ready?” He asked.

With a nod of his head, Sherlock acknowledged he was and looked over to Molly and Murray.

Molly gave a wave as she pulled herself into the saddle.

Sherlock gave a soft rumble again as John pulled himself up. He turned his head to make sure John was ready before flaring his wings. A few powerful thrusts found him climbing. Murray right behind him. Molly’s happy laughter ringing out.

John let out a pleased gasp and watched as they climbed through the air, looking out over London. He smoothed his hands over Sherlock’s neck as they flew. In fits and starts he could feel his magic, dampened though it had been by the shot. 

A small shudder ran through Sherlock anytime John’s magic came to the forefront. It sang to him in ways he’d never experienced before. He had to wonder if this is what bonded pairs felt.

Being on Sherlock was terrifying and wonderful. John hadn’t felt his magic this much since he’d returned home. He tried calling it forth and startled when a surge of it danced to his fingertips. 

Sherlock let out a startled huff, John’s fingertips still on his scales. 

“Oh- oh Sherlock, I’m sorry. I’m not used to feeling it anymore.” John looked over to see Murray making great sweeping circles over London. He chuckled to himself as he watched them. 

“I think Murray has it bad for your friend. He hasn’t shut up since they met.”

Sherlock looked back at John. _Good, Molly deserves someone who likes her and is compatible_. He turned back to dip before John spoke again.

“I agree, Murray is the same. He had an intended. They were compatible and wanted to bond after combat. Didn’t want to lose one another after a bond, you know? Tanner went down about six months before he was scheduled to come home. Took Murray a while to get over it. Said if he’d been bonded they wouldn’t have been separated and Tanner- Alexander sent out to where the fighting was worse.” John cleared his throat. “Sorry, you were say-”

John tilted his head as Sherlock looked back, his visible eye wide. 

_You heard me?_

“Jesus Christ.” John snatched his hand back. “Try again.”

 _Um, hello?_ Sherlock banked, heading back toward the flying fields.

A minute passed and John put his hand back on Sherlock’s neck. “I couldn’t hear anything. Say something?”

_This is fascinating, you seem to be able to hear me like this if we are touching. John, this is extraordinary! Almost no one can communicate outside of bonded pairs! Well, dragons have some telepathy when near one another, but this…_

John got a burst of excitement from Sherlock and started laughing. “Alright, alright, calm down. Yes, it’s extraordinary. What does it mean though?”

Sherlock blew smoke as he dipped and circled the flying field. _I don’t know. We must research this. You should come to the flat._

A low laugh bubbled up out of John. “Calm down, Sherlock.”

 _Dinner. I know a good Thai place. If you like that sort of thing. Come with me. I want to know more_. Sherlock took them down, landing with a soft step on the fields.

John leapt out of the saddle, heading up to Sherlock’s head to scratch at his horns. “This is amazing. I can feel my magic again. It still feels out of reach, but I can feel it, feel that it’s still here. I couldn’t call it all before this evening.”

Sherlock pressed his face to John’s chest. _I told you it was there._

“Yes, well, I haven’t been able to _feel_ it, Sherlock. Not like this anyhow. Imagine you knew you could shift, but couldn’t access whatever it is that lets you actually take this form.”

There was silence from Sherlock for a minute before he huffed. _I don’t have to. I once got stuck in this form and couldn’t shift back for nearly a month. It’s- well it’s awful._

John arched a brow. “Were you cursed?”

There was hesitation from Sherlock before he puffed out a sigh. _I used to use drugs extensively. I have been clean for some time, but it was that episode that caused me to give them up completely._

“Ah.” John continued his attentions to the base of Sherlock’s horns. “Well, I am glad you were able to stop. Not everyone is so lucky.”

The look of surprise was evident on Sherlock’s face as he pulled up a bit, John’s hands sliding to his nose. _You don’t want to leave because of that?_

“Oi, Sherlock. No, you seem to have your life together. Why would I judge you for something in your past like that? I mean, if you’d slaughtered children in a drug fueled haze, well, yeah, I’d probably have a problem.” John shook his head, scratching gently.

Sherlock let out a soft, relieved sigh. _Thank you._

John hummed and stroked Sherlock’s face. “Let me get your saddle off, go change and we’ll see about dinner. Yeah?”

A dip of Sherlock’s head was John’s answer and he set about pulling the saddle off. A moment later, Sherlock disappeared into the barn as Molly and Murray landed.

“Everything alright, John?” Molly called out as Murray looked at him curiously.

“Ah, yeah, everything is fine. Ah- I can hear him. If I have my hands on him.” John admitted as he shifted from foot to foot.

Both of them looked on, wide eyed at John’s admission until Molly clapped her hands. “That’s wonderful!” 

Murray moved toward John and nudged his good shoulder before touching John’s chest with his nose.

John shoved his nose away with a laugh. “Alright, alright you big damn softie. Go on. Enjoy your date. I’m gonna go on mine.” 

A low chuckle sounded behind John and Sherlock’s deep voice rang out. “A date is it?”

The blush that flamed John’s cheeks was scarlet as turned to face Sherlock. “I thought-”

Sherlock offered his arm. “I think I’d like that.”

With a small grin, John took Sherlock’s arm. “A date then.”

Molly winked to Sherlock, and Murray shoved John a little closer to Sherlock before taking to the sky once again. 

Sherlock huffed softly as he pushed the call button. “Best Thai in the city.” 

John hummed at that and scooped up Sherlock’s saddle. “How old is this thing? It needs some major work, Sherlock.”

“Mm, it could use a good oiling and some care. I haven’t had the time.” Sherlock agreed as they waited.

There was a small pause before John spoke again. “Let me take it home? I promise I’ll take care of it. It will give me something to do. I was pretty good at taking care of them in the field. This is a high quality saddle.” 

Sherlock gazed at John for a moment, studying him intently. He smiled and nodded. “I trust you, John Watson. Thank you.”

John beamed at the compliment and then chewed on his lip. “You know I’m not considered a handler, right?”

A look of puzzlement came over Sherlock’s face. “But you can hear me, when I’m in dragon form. How can you not be considered a handler?”

There was an uncomfortable beat of silence as John rubbed the back of his neck. “My magic, they said it wouldn’t allow for handling.”

“That’s ridiculous. There are magic handlers. Who told you this!?” Sherlock nearly snarled the words.

John held up his hands. “I was still in school, it was when they did those classification tests.”

Sherlock’s mouth twitched up in the corner. “Judging by your age, you were never given the revised tests. I imagine the new ones came into use after you left for your medical degree and the army.”

“There are new tests?” John asked as the cab arrived and they loaded the saddle and themselves into it.

Sherlock gave the cabbie the address of the restaurant before turning to John. “There have been for some time. I can arrange for you to take the handler test.”

John hummed and nodded. “I want to. I’ve always had an affinity for dragons. I was the one they came to in the field if they needed something patched without shifting. It comes naturally. But I was never shown anyone as far as- well you know.”

“I understand. Mycroft will be most interested in you. Don’t let him intimidate you.”

A smirk turned the corner of John’s mouth up. “I’ve met dragons like him. Let him try.

Sherlock grinned as he looked back to John. “My brother-in-law will like you.” 

The two of them broke into laughter, turning their gazes out the window, watching London pass by.

\---

Elsewhere in London, Mycroft looked over to Greg as they sat peering at Mycroft’s laptop. “His record is exemplary. What do you think?”

“As long as Sherlock’s happy, I don’t care, Mycroft. You went through his file. He’s a safe bloke. You’re going to have to run the handler test on him, but there’s no way he’s not. You saw the reports from the dragons in his unit.”

Mycroft nodded. “Very well, I’ll wait for Sherlock to contact me.”

Greg kissed Mycroft’s temple. “Thank you. Now come to bed.”


End file.
